On Friday night, I took a master “train the instructor” style fitness class for group cycling and boot camp. I’ve been teaching group cycling for a few years and have contemplated getting more information about being able to orchestrate a good boot camp workout. Well, this “master class” was being taught by a nationally renowned “fitness guru” and I gotta say that I was impressed not only with her, but her beautifully sculpted assistant. I couldn’t help but stare at him. Well, whenever I wasn’t being killed by the routine.
So, after an hour and a half of being tortured I had a decision to make. Cycle home or treat myself to a bus ride up the hills into South Austin.
I pedaled away from the gym on my way to the bus stop cuz I figured that after the ordeal I had gone through, coupled with the heat of a typical Central Texas summer day, it was prolly a good idea to give myself a break.
I got to the bus stop, leaned my bike against the bench and sat down. Just then, a shirtless guy on a bike cycled up to the intersection and stopped at the light. A particularly hot and tan shirtless guy on a bike. He looked at me. He looked at my bike leaning against the bus stop bench. He looked back at me. The light changed and he cycled away.
“Bitch,” I thought, “you don’t know what I’ve just gone through…”
Then I looked at myself. Even though I’m doing fairly well, let’s just say that I’m not yet recovered from the recent legislative session fitness-wise. Last summer I was all about cycling shirtless – you know, cuz it’s good for a nice even tan.
“Grumble, grumble, grouch… fine!” I exclaim to myself, silently cursing the hot, tan, sexy, shirtless guy on the bicycle that was now well on his way up the hills into South Austin. I get back on my bike and follow suit.
The neurosis of my vanity is not to be underestimated.
